


Let it End

by greyassassin24



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-12-13 10:50:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11758275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyassassin24/pseuds/greyassassin24
Summary: As the War of the Five Kings rages on, soon the island of Skagos is lost in a bloody betrayal. With the streets now running with blood and fire, the fate of House Timberwolf hangs in the balance. A Wildling, a Dayne bastard, and the heir of the House are the only ones that can save it now, and must endure countless battles and games of politics if they ever hope to return. Westeros is dying, and the War for the Dawn is coming with the winter...





	1. Prologue

_Cold_.

It was what she missed the most about the South. The Riverlands saw a summer breeze that you could never feel up here, not even during the hottest of days. Now winter was at the doorstep, and Skagos fell colder than she could have imagined. It wasn't her family, her friends or her faith that she missed the most. Just the warmth.

It was colder still, with Byron sweating and bleeding in the South. Things were always warmer with his smile around. Not that he had much reason to smile, the last few years. Jorran was dead now, slain by his own brother, Byron. He'd been mad as Aerys himself, and now he and the rest of their House were dying for a new king, and all she could do was sit at home and worry.

They said the Riverlands had seen the most fighting of the war, that they had been ruined. She'd cried when she had heard the news, that her home was becoming a battlefront, with roads and houses torn apart by the fighting. Not that her father had done anything to help. 'The Late' Walder Frey they were calling him, as he'd intentionally arrived late to the battle, when he could have helped them. Byron and his soldiers had fought the Targaryens to the gates of the Seventh Hell, and the Frey soldiers just watched to help the victor at the last minute.

How she came from them, she'd never know. She was a Northerner now, and she was glad to have nothing to do with the Twins or it's inhabitants.

"We can make the world a better place."

That's what Byron had told her. She was just a girl then, visiting the North with her family, when she'd met him. When she asked how he dealt with how awful things seemed living in the North, that's what he's told her.

"We're alone under this sun. People sometimes have an awful way of dealing with their fear at knowing how alone we are. But when people are scared and dealing with it in bad ways, that doesn't make them bad people. That makes them people who need help."

That was what had convinced her she didn't belong in the South. She had gone home, to Riverrun, and had sat at a feast, and all she could think of was the people they could help with the absurd amount of food they were consuming.

A loud metallic grinding noise snapped her from her thoughts, and she looked out the windows to see their House returning, with Byron at the head of them. Their forces were much smaller than when they had left, and it left a sharp pang in her heart to know so many wouldn't be coming home again. Still, they had come home at all, which was a miracle in and of itself.

Moments later she found herself at the gate and, upon seeing her, Byron's expression softened, and he took her into his arms. "Gods be praised." He smiled as they embraced. "How I missed you." There was a weariness about him, and she knew already that terrible things had happened in the South. Last she had heard, he was headed with Ned Stark to take the Capital, and nothing more, though information travelled slowly out to Skagos. "How are the children?"

"They have their health." She promised, not wanting to let go of him. "Lena's as stubborn as ever, and the twins don't like being separated from each other's company for a moment." He chuckled. "What about you? Something's wrong."

He sighed, and released her from his embrace, even though she didn't want to be. "The Lannisters..." He shook his head. "Took the Capital to prove their loyalty to Robert. They… the things we saw..." His voice broke, and she began to embrace him again.

"It's okay." Lyla promised him. "You're home now."

He smiled. "It's cold, damp and lonely, but the North is the place I'm supposed to be. Let the Southerners keep their flowers and sun. I have home."


	2. The Kingsroad

"-but what does it matter, for all men must die, and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!" Rivers and Edward joined their voices into loud, off-key singing, and Tyra rolled her eyes at them, tossing an apple back at them.

"Oh, do shut up." She scoffed back at them, finding a rhythm in the trotting of the horse beneath her. They'd spent the whole of the trip trying to annoy her once they had found out that she was a noble bastard. "Shall our next song be about a neglectful Riverlands Lord, _Rivers_?"

Rivers laughed. "Walder Frey is a man of simple tastes, no doubting that. No shame in being a noble bastard… to a lord that means something!" She threw another apple at his head. She knew they didn't mean anything by the banter, it was just their way of staying sane on the roads, and he made for good target practice.

"Yeah, worth something." Edward laughed. "Here's to Rivers, son of Late Walder Frey and some bar-wench. Real noble there."

"Least I'm not a Dornishman." He laughed back.

There were eight of them: Marcus the Northern Bastard, Fen and Poppy the Wildlings, Tyra the Dornish Bastard, Rivers and Edward, Byron and Lyla. Many Lords were bringing South their greatest, their children they hoped to marry off, Lords to be, Knights to be put on the Kingsguard. Byron, on the other hand, had chosen only to bring those he believed in. His children deserved to marry who they wished, and his greatest knights needed to be at home. On the other hand, there were those that needed to see the world, for he believed that someday they would change it.

He took Wildlings and Bastards into his ranks because he believed that, whoever they had been, that they could make a difference.

Marcus, riding at the point, held up a hand as he slowed his horse, and the whole convoy stopped, their banter dying on their lips. As they slowed, they could see something awful tossed to the roadside like an old doll: three bodies, one of them barely more than a boy. They lay clothed in little more than their undergarments, whatever they had been wearing prior having been stolen.

Tyra let out a short sigh, putting a hand at her sword. "Seems to me that bandits came this way." It was a gruesome, if not uncommon sight. Fen looked a little disgusted at the sight, but said nothing, instead scanning the area to ensure they weren't walking into an ambush.

"Aye," Byron commented, climbing off his horse to get a better look. "Kingsroad isn't safe these days. Seems that the kingdom is coming apart at the seams."

Nodding, she knelt down, and put a gauntleted hand over one of them, turning one of the taller ones over, seeing nothing more. Nothing to be found it seemed.

As she stood back up, however, one of the men gasped out, sitting up as if awakening from a terrible nightmare. Tyra nearly stumbled over herself, only to be caught by Byron. "Gods be good..." He rasped, eyes barely open. He was the youngest one of the fallen, not nearly as old as his fellows. "Are… you..." He groaned, putting a hand on his throat. "You're not… them. Thank the gods."

"Gods." Byron shook his head. "He's not much longer for this world, not at this rate." With one of the fallen men laid heavily ontop of him, it seemed very likely that the pressure of the corpse was all that was keeping him alive. None of them was a Maester, nor a Silent Sister. Edward and Rivers looked away, not wanting to see the young man bleed out.

Tyra shook her head, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Boy, tell me: What happened here?"

"M-my name..." He coughed up blood, laying his head back, groaning in agony. "My name is Jodrell, squire to Ser… Ser Tymon. The two of us, and Ser Roddrik… we were headed to King's Landing for the Tourney of the Hand. After nightfall, we were on our way to the Inn, the Crossroads Inn, but six men – tall as demons and dark as the night they were – attacked us. They knocked the Knights off of their horses and slit their throats before they could stand up again. I tried to fight, by the Father I did, with just my knife..." He coughed, crimson red coating his bare hand. "I tried. I'm so sorry Lord Tymon... I tried."

Marcus dismounted his horse, securing Poppy who, he realized, had fallen into a Warg dream as he approached the dying boy. "I am the new Hand of the King." He lied, hoping that the boy was too far into death to realize the obvious deception. "I grant you a knighthood, young squire, for your valour in the field of battle." He drew his sword, and gave the boy one final nod. "Know that you died with honour becoming of a real warrior." Jodrell smiled a little, and laid his head back. With that, he drove his blade into the boy's heart.

Poppy sat up in the horse's saddle, blinking off her warg dreams. "The Inn is about a quarter of a mile up ahead." She reported, shaking it off. "I don't see anyone else on the road."

"We'd best be careful." Lyla nodded, watching as the others remounted their horses. "I don't think I've ever thought the Crownlands were safe. Especially not after the Rebellion." Byron nodded a little, wincing at the memory of what had occurred at King's Landing when he had last come this far south.

Moving on, they soon came across the Crossroads Inn. The sight of warm timbers and thatched roof of the Inn were a welcome sight, along with the sign of blue smoke curling from the chimney into the unending rain of the night.

Heading inside, all eyes fell upon them, paying particular attention to their shields emblazoned with the sigil of House Timberwolf, a black howling wolf on a grey and red stripped backdrop. The innkeeper, an older woman with grey and white lines in her hair was the first to find herself breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"I've..." She found herself at a loss of words. "Never been one to turn away paying customers. Brenda, get our new… friends… something to drink."

With something clearly amiss, Byron signalled for the others to act about their business normally as he pulled a seat up next to the innkeeper. Edward and Rivers immediately headed off to the practice grounds that had been set up for passing knights, while the others took their respective seats around the inn.

Fen pulled a seat into the furthest corner, hoping to be alone, only for Poppy to pull a seat up next to her. Marcus, shaking his head, sat next to Poppy, hoping to keep her from tormenting the poor girl.

Tyra started towards them, then looked back and frowned. Byron and the Innkeeper spoke in hushed voices, with the Innkeeper pointing over to where the group were sitting. She shook her head, and attempted to hand back some of Byron's coin to him, which he refused. Not sure what in the world was happening, she decided to simply investigate it herself.

"My lord." She said as she approached, reminding herself not to slur the words together. "What's going on?"

Byron sighed, and Lyla hung her head. "Have you ever been to King's Landing?" He asked, looking up at her, and Tyra nodded. "Then you should know: King's Landing is a nest of vipers. Someone's… been spreading rumours, it seems."

"Rumours?" She asked, looking around. "Who?"

"I don't know." He admitted. "It's mostly what one might expect from our family. The vile Skagosi are coming to spread their famine and murder. But, there's one very particular one." He looked around to make sure no one was listening, then lowered his voice. "A village on the north shores of the Crownlands, east of Maidenpool, was…" He squirmed a little, looking uncomfortable. "Put to the torch. at the centre of the burned out village… was a Timberwolf shield."

As he spoke, the knights in the courtyard struck their swords harder and harder against one another, escalating to the sound of battle.


	3. The Kingswood

“I wish Luna were here to see this.” Byron looked longingly at the trees. “She loves the forest. Hates the cold.” They remained silent, and Byron looked at the trees more. Few deigned to point out the irony that the girl who had her skin burned to the bone hated cold.

 

Lyla smiled after a minute. “She loves the trees at home well enough, and she’ll be safer, away from King’s Landing.” A moment later, she spoke again. “Not even the rats in the streets should be cursed to live there.”

 

“Perhaps not.” He mused. “But the Lannisters sure seem to want to.”

 

“A Lannister is less than a rat.” She laughed. “They’re welcome to it, the Baratheons and Targaryens too. You couldn’t threaten me to live there again.”

 

They came to an abrupt halt, and he held up his hand. Nine figures ahead of them came in shadows, one atop a horse and eight others on their feet. In their silhouettes were swords and crossbows. “Bandits.” He observed. “Lyla, get behind us. Everyone else, off your horses and get ready for anything.” They all obeyed, and in a moment their weapons were out. Marcus wielded a long, slender sword with no crossguard that curved heavily, Tyra with a bastard sword held in one hand, the Wildlings both with bows, and the knights with longswords and shields half as tall as they.

 

The figures rode out and into the light from under the trees, the one on the horse wearing fine clothes embroidered with gold. “Greetings.” He smiled, waving at them, and Byron held up his hand in response. “I won’t waste your time or mine, we’ve got a few hundred other travellers to do this to. Common fare, hand over your gold, your horses and your women, and we’ll be on our way.”

 

“Well when you put it that way, you sound right neighborly.” Byron chuckled. “I’m afraid the answer is no. King’s Landing will take enough of our gold, the ride on the Kingsroad is long enough with the horses, and the women are friends. But since you asked nicely, I’ll do so as well: Go home, and change your lives while you can.”

 

The regal man smiled back at him. “I’m afraid that’s not an option.” At that, he held up a hand, and both of the men with crossbows lifted them and fired. Edward lifted his shield in time to stop the bolt that came at him; Rivers was not so lucky. His struck into his throat and deep, and he fell to his knees as blood poured in streams from his lips before he collapsed onto the forest floor. “Now that we understand each other.” He smiled wider. “I will again repeat my request.”

 

For a moment, they stood off, with Byron narrowing his eyes at the man, who grinned wider. After a tense few seconds, there was a long, dull thunk, and the regal man looked down in shock. An arrowhead was sticking out from his chest, where it had pierced through his back and through his chest. Looking past the man, Byron saw yet another figure in shadows, this one far away, holding the silhouette of a longbow. The regal man fell from his saddle, and did not move again.

 

After a stunned silence, Tyra made the first move, charging the closest man and slashing her sword through his neck, partially decapitating him. The rest of the battlefield broke out into chaos, with the Wildlings diving into covering bushes before firing their bows at the men, with Edward, Marcus and Tyra engaging the other swordsmen. More and more arrows came from the figure in the shadows, cutting them down.

 

Byron jumped from his saddle, and drew his blade. It was a dark blue blade, with the traditional silvery waves of Valyrian Steel. Only sharpened on the one side and with a very subtle curve, it was an unusual sword. Still, as he broke into their lines, the blade slashed through the bandits’ armour as if biting through butter, sending broken men to the ground to remain still forever more.

 

In a moment, it was over. The bandits lay still, bloody and shattered in the dirt, the Timberwolves having emerged victorious. Looking upwards, he saw the shadow coming towards them. He was a hooded figure with a dark purple cloth pulled over his mouth to hide his features, only revealing darkened brown eyes looking outside into the world.

 

“Nice shooting.” Tyra said at him, not yet putting away her sword. “That is, if you weren’t aiming at us.”

 

The stranger chuckled. “I always hit what I aim for. If it was you, you wouldn’t be here to question that. Name’s Warmonger. There’s a hundred dragons on the dandy’s head, came here to collect.” She shrugged and looked back to Byron, who gazed at the boy, clearly recognizing him.

 

“Gods blood.” He said. “Life hasn’t been easy on you, has it lad?”

 

Warmonger looked up at him, glaring at him. “What do you mean by that?” After a moment of silence, Byron shook his head quietly, getting back onto his horse. The assassin shrugged it off, taking the head of the leader, then headed off in the opposite direction of the capital. “Bandits all over the woods, they know the tourney is coming.” He warned. “Road should be clear, I’ve been killing bandits coming this way, but be careful.”

 

With no further prompting form Byron, they began the final trek to King’s Landing.


End file.
